


Storybook Romance

by Tridraconeus



Series: Strange Bedfellows [6]
Category: Warframe
Genre: Anal Sex, Breathplay, Consensual Nonconsent, Crossfaction, Dominance, Fighting, Humiliation, M/M, Manhandling, Predator/Prey Dynamic, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: “This formidable specimen is both a warrior and a tracker, wise with the knowledge that to kill his prey, he must first catch it. His exquisite bracelet is a tool both to strip away the defenses of his opponent and weaken their will.”The Myrmidon bent to press his hand against the twisted Excalibur, melting it fully into dust.“He knows he is not alone.”
Relationships: Drusus Leverian (Warframe)/The Operator (Warframe), The Myrmidon (Warframe)/The Operator (Warframe)
Series: Strange Bedfellows [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641583
Comments: 22
Kudos: 48





	Storybook Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Drusus: A Merciless, Invincible Beast  
> Me: I WANNA FUCK THAT  
> anyway I walked through Ivara's Leverian exhibit and literally like, not even 24 hours later here's thousands of words of porn. mind the tags!

“You are in this exhibit frequently, Tenno.”

It followed on the tail end of Drusus’ telling of Ivara’s battle-companions falling to the jade light of the Myrmidon, his tone politely distant.

“Could it be the tale of Ivara interests you deeply?” 

The catwalk of the Leverian folded out, the Aksomati on display winking out of existence. The replica Ivara frame turned slowly; to face him. Her neuroptic light flickered, like she was waking up. Nitzan gripped the Transference link of Loki tightly. The caretaker of the Leverian never outright addressed his visitors unless he was thanking them for a donation. He and Nitzan had talked, of course-- Nitzan wanted to know more than what was on display, and received scraps of further stories in return for hunting down potential new displays for Drusus. He still wouldn’t call them friends, but he knew Drusus’ penchant for preservation didn’t require living things be killed first, and Drusus was perhaps the furthest from a predatory thing that the Origin System could offer.

This new tone was making him reconsider. 

“Or perhaps it is her opponent?” 

The hood closed; changed from tans and blue lighting to matte silver metal and red. She grew, limbs growing thicker and Tenno armor rippling into the same metal of her-- the Myrmidon’s-- helmet. Nitzan took a step forward to close some distance between himself and the motionless statue, clad as the Myrmidon had been in life. Seven feet tall, at least, broad shoulders and a wide torso, heavily armored but attractively so. 

“One could understand why. The ultimate punishment awaited Tenno unlucky enough to fall in an encounter with him. Not all were as skilled as Ivara, after all.”

Nitzan circled the statue. The Myrmidon had on a syndana; torn from a fallen warframe. He recognized the rectangular silhouette of the Broca design. He’d never liked it, found it hindering in battle, but then; Loki or Valkyr did not have the imposing frame to make the most use of it. The Myrmidon certainly did. 

“How many Tenno had thought they were safe, after watching him strike down their fellow? Surely some must have.” 

An Excalibur appeared on the floor, the motionless Myrmidon between him and it. The Excalibur was half-dissolved into golden dust. The bracelet around the Myrmidon’s wrist pulsed, and then all fell still once more. “And how eager was the merciless Myrmidon to punish their cowardice?” 

This was not one of the rare, pleasant stories Nitzan was rewarded with after retrieving some artifact at great danger to himself. This was something else. He took a step back, eyeing the limp hang of the Broca syndana. Tenno armor still clung to the attachment points. It must have been pried off before the Myrmidon’s prey met its final end; otherwise it would have dissolved into dust like the rest of it. 

Even though the statue was lifeless and still, Nitzan still felt a creeping unease up Loki’s spine. He dearly wanted to activate his cloak despite knowing he had no need to. 

The statue moved. Perhaps he would have the need— excitement sparked to life over the Transference bond. Drusus’ voice lilted in the air around him. “I wonder, has the span of time lifted all warframes to the level of Ivara?” 

The Myrmidon walked from his pedestal; it sank into the ground. A Simulacrum, Nitzan finally realized. This was a Simulacrum. How else was Drusus manipulating it so finely? And why had Drusus loosed this recreation of the Myrmidon on the room? 

He had an idea. He’d certainly shared more than a few things with Drusus about how _adventurous_ and _diplomatic_ he could be when the situation called for it.

Still; the storyteller had it in mind to tell a story, and Nitzan was, for now, pleased to let him have it play out, so he watched as the Simulacrum bent itself into a mimicry of the Plains. 

“This formidable specimen is both a warrior and a tracker, wise with the knowledge that to kill his prey, he must first catch it. His exquisite bracelet is a tool both to strip away the defenses of his opponent and weaken their will.” 

The Myrmidon bent to press his hand against the twisted Excalibur, melting it fully into dust. 

“He knows he is not alone.” 

Oh. So this was a story that Nitzan was to be a part of. If he could smile, he would; instead, he activated his invisibility and dropped into a crouch. Cover was easy to find in the Plains, so he ducked behind a rocky outcropping and watched as the Myrmidon straightened to his full height.

“The Excalibur fought well, but could never have lasted this long alone. An ally— but who? All he knows is that his prey will need to sneak past him, so he scans the knee-high grasses of the Eidolon Plains for the slightest disturbance.”

A faint, glowing orb sprung to life about ten feet behind the Myrmidon; almost like one of the display boards in the Leverian that Nitzan was familiar with. If he wanted more, he was going to have to play along. 

He did like Drusus. Their ideas of what was fun could overlap. He had the feeling that this would be very, _very_ fun. He waited until the Myrmidon turned to scan the opposite side, seemingly blind to the glowing orb, and crept by. So far, so good.

His palm made contact with the orb at the same time the Myrmidon faced him once more, and underneath him a branch cracked. Another orb appeared, and then another, forming a trail that grew from white to intense cherry red. The Myrmidon’s weapon glowed; he had barely a second to leap to the first orb. 

“Keen ears pick up the slightest crack of wood and the hunt begins anew. The Myrmidon looses a killing beam of light, only for his fleet-footed prey to take flight and evade him! He follows the dust that the warframe kicks up, taking aim at the terminus of its pendulous arc.” 

Another shot. How was he going to avoid it?

He wasn’t, he realized. The next orb was directly under the Myrmidon’s feet. He reached out and seized the Myrmidon with Loki’s teleporting technology. Drusus’ voice was warm and pleased, tight with excitement, eager to tell his rapidly-evolving story with a participant as adaptable as he was.

“The clever thing has escaped once again; the Myrmidon knows now that he should not underestimate his crafty prey. But where, oh _where_ has it gone? Turned around and disoriented, the hunter searches for the ripple of displaced air.” 

The next orb was right behind the Myrmidon. He was supposed to attack, but it was considered polite to leave weapons in the Orbiter when visiting non-combat zones, and so he was unarmed. The only weapon present in the Simulacrum that didn’t already belong to the Myrmidon himself was the Excalibur’s skana, bladedown in the dirt. 

Jump to the skana. Pull it out, and jump up and over the Myrmidon’s head to strike him down in the back. Good. _Great_. He’d done that before, and considered himself good at it. He leapt. The dust plumed up and once more jade light pierced the air. He was too fast. Too skilled. The Myrmidon couldn’t hope to touch him when he was in his element, invisible like this and now with the skana as a comforting weight in Loki’s hand. 

“The Myrmidon, though skilled, is not familiar with an invisible prey that leaps toward him instead of away. The shot goes wide-- more dust explodes into the air, kicking up a fine particulate that nonetheless has the potential to betray the position of his prey.”

 _Drusus, the bastard_. The next orb was directly in the dust cloud. Nitzan would not do that. Even without the narration, he knew it would be a foolish move. Then again-- he knew this was not a battle that Loki would win, not to get the outcome he wanted, so he put his tactical ideas to the side and obediently bullet-jumped to the orb. 

“There! The displacement of dust reveals the lithe contour of his prey.” 

He expected another beam of light, not for the Myrmidon to make the power-stealing gesture that had been the end of the Excalibur. His invisibility fell away from him. It felt-- draining. Like one of the Leech Eximus units, but deeper, made him feel sick and weak and hollowed out inside.

The next orb was to the side, and three were close together. A juking maneuver. From the position, he already knew what he had to do.

A bullet-jump, first, and a beam of light shot directly under the curve of his back so close he could feel the sucking coldness of it. Sliding on his thigh, foot passing through the second orb. Light, again. His neck, this time. Rolling. Between his _legs_.

“He shoots after the retreating warframe again and again, incapable of landing a shot with his death-dealing weapon. He is… aggravated, yes, but even with aggravation interest in his evasive foe grips him.” 

He turned on his heel and jumped up. The hollow feeling in him faded away, and when he reached for his invisibility it came to him once more. 

“Of course, he cannot simply allow it to escape; the craftier the prey, the greater the reward.”

The orbs once again moved, tightening, forming a circle around the Myrmidon. Nitzan followed at a sprint. 

“And the Loki knows as well that there is no escape; there is victory or death.”

If he just got to the bracelet, like Ivara had, he had a chance. If the Myrmidon dampened his abilities again while he was so close, he was doomed. Despite knowing the outcome in advance, he struck the Myrmidon with the skana.

Again, the bracelet flashed. No jade light for him; the Myrmidon simply stole his powers away with a gesture and backhanded him. Stepped forward, elbow crushing down on his shoulder, armored hand tearing the skana from his grip and throwing it away.

It landed on the ground, flickered, and faded from existence. 

“His boldness has doomed him. With practiced, ruthless movements, the Myrmidon disarms… and restrains.. His prey.” As Drusus spoke, the Myrmidon seized Nitzan by Loki’s horns, wrestling him to the ground. 

An orb flickered to life. How was he supposed to escape? He was pinned. He didn’t have leverage to fling the Myrmidon off, and the Myrmidon himself was incredibly heavy and solid. The Myrmidon held up his weapon, jade gathering at the mouth of it.

Only one way out. Nitzan understood. 

The jade strengthened, far too long, and he tore himself from Transference. The movement thrust him directly onto the orb, and yet another sprung into existence, blindingly bright, behind the Myrmidon; still settled on Loki. 

Now _this_ he could do. An expert Void dash put him through the Myrmidon and into the orb, throwing the man back. He sprawled; the Broca syndana draped over his head like a failure of a bullfighter. 

“Never before had his prey chosen to confront him so directly. The Myrmidon knows, of course, the true hand behind the slain puppets, but they are confined to Reservoirs.”

Another orb; Nitzan bared his teeth, an ugly, scary grin, and punched through the Myrmidon once more. 

“This is something he cannot kill. He sets his sight once more on his fierce, wicked prey.” 

_Fierce, wicked prey_. Drusus had never called him that before. It was always _Tenno_ ; _partner_ , if he’d done particularly well. He felt rather like an animal in a zoo, or perhaps a character in a storybook.

Which he was. A very interesting storybook. 

Drusus guided him through the Myrmidon twice more, until the final orb placed itself just so slightly in front; he could already tell that his well of the Void would set him there, exhausted. Almost without thinking, he obeyed.

The Myrmidon was ready for him.

“Once again his boldness has doomed him. Frozen, he can only stand, wide-eyed, as the Myrmidon grasps him around the throat.”

Sure enough, the Myrmidon’s armored hand closed around his throat-- lifted him into the air. Nitzan grasped his wrist with both hands and kicked uselessly, crying out and playing the part of terrified, captured enemy as well as he could. His blood rose and raced as the Myrmidon threw him with such force that it was a full three seconds before he hit the ground, and then skidded on his side for a few feet until he came to a stop in a flustered, battered heap. He opened his eyes and caught a glance of the Myrmidon making his way over; slowly. Confident. 

An orb captured his attention. The skana was back, about five feet away from him. 

“The Myrmidon watches as the Tenno crawls for the weapon, his last chance at salvation. With a blade in his hand and the Void at his call, he may yet regain the advantage.” 

It would be faster to scramble to his feet, but Drusus wanted him to crawl. He pushed himself forward on his hands and knees, slower than he could be, but even then he got his hand around the hilt of the skana before the shadow of the Myrmidon fell upon him.

“A shame-- perhaps a tragedy. The Myrmidon disables his prey once more.”

The Myrmidon’s boot connected with his wrist. It should have broken it with the force, but the soft, yielding soil of the Plains absorbed some of the punishing blow. Nitzan still let go of the skana.

The Myrmidon seized him by the hair this time. Tugged his head up, made his back arch to relieve the strain, and Nitzan was suddenly struck by how vulnerable the position was. With one hand pinned to the dirt, he was forced to use the other to support him instead of fight back. The _Myrmidon’s_ other hand closed around his throat and squeezed. He screamed, bucked. He took the chance to reach back with his free hand to try and pry the Myrmidon’s fingers away from his throat.

“What to do with his prey, now that he’s caught him, the Myrmidon thinks.” Drusus’ voice turned up to indicate the Myrmidon’s trail of thought. The hand remained, steely and secure. “Even pinned and helpless, he continues to struggle.”

Nitzan wrenched his hand out from under the Myrmidon’s boot almost by mistake, but when the Myrmidon stomped on his back he realized that it wasn’t a lapse in the big man’s attention-- in Drusus’ attention. This was just another evolution of the dance. He howled, letting the wash of pain climb, and thrashed until the Myrmidon backhanded him, thrust him into the ground and set a boot against his neck to replace his hand. Nitzan coughed and wheezed. He was wet in his transference suit. 

“There is a better punishment for this one; one that will stick far longer than a simple, merciful death.” 

_Finally_ , Nitzan allowed himself to think. They were getting to the _good_ part. He’d enjoyed the combat, but it was combat by Drusus’ rules to fulfill his part. Playacting, even though it took skill.

He realized that now he was pinned under the Myrmidon for good, he’d turned from a playactor to a plaything. He still had his part, which he was certain Drusus would remind him of if he strayed, but without the orbs to lead him he was pitifully in the dark.

Not all the way in the dark. The Myrmidon leaned down, putting more weight on Nitzan’s throat-- he sputtered and gagged-- to pluck the skana from the ground. It drove into the soil by Nitzan’s side.

“The Myrmidon surveys the trembling of his prey, frightened into submission for now-- lightheaded and in pain, the Tenno is incapable of fighting back.” 

Drusus did not want him to move. Nitzan understood why when the Myrmidon began to quite literally cut him out of his transference suit. The skana followed the line of his spine, then his shoulders. He offered up little yelps and whines of terror and protest, fingers digging into the dirt. 

Weirdly, the Myrmidon stopped once he’d freed Nitzan from everything but his pants. Drusus’ narration paused; the Myrmidon flipped Nitzan to his back, instead, moving down his body. Nitzan raised both hands protectively.

It did nothing; the Myrmidon set one heavy boot between his legs, pressing down on him. It rubbed at the slightest provocation. The skana drifted down to touch his throat.

“Wait—” his voice was ragged, panting, still afraid. “Myrmidon—”

It was then Drusus knew that he wasn’t the one being addressed. The Myrmidon was merciless, and ignored Nitzan’s pleas. He bent to seize a handful of Nitzan’s hair again and curved the tip of the skana under his lifted head. It made a thin cut wherever it connected. Drew blood immediately. The skana was sharp in a way that dampened pain and left it as a humiliating sting, so Nitzan cried out and bit his lip.

The tip of the blade circled his throat, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Nitzan held as still as he could to avoid getting nicked somewhere dangerous, even shaking as he was. Begging, still.

A collar. The Myrmidon was carving a damn collar into his skin. It wouldn’t stick outside of the Leverian, but for as long as this story went on he was a pitiful, beaten, _marked_ prey. 

He rolled his crotch against the Myrmidon’s boot. 

“The Myrmidon ignores the pleading of his prey, but not his excitement. There are few who would not tremble before the warrior’s claim, and the Tenno is no exception. He sets the weapon to the side and sets in on his prize.”

The Myrmidon removed his boot from Nitzan’s crotch— _killjoy_ , _Drusus_ , Nitzan allowed himself to internally grouse— but just as quickly dropped down to pull his pants off. 

“Humiliated and stunned, the Tenno can do nothing but allow the Myrmidon to take…” his legs were knocked apart. He let it happen; twisting his expression into disgust and horror. “What…” the click of a belt, the shoving of armor aside, and the Myrmidon’s cock was revealed. Nitzan barely had time to look at it before he’d lined himself up with Nitzan’s entirely unprepped hole. “He…” pushing _in_ , no care given to Nitzan’s comfort or willingness. He screamed. The pain was manageable; the idea of it felt so much better, to be pinned and claimed like a prize by the cruel, victorious warrior above him. “ _Wants_.”

Void, his cock was huge. The man himself was huge. Nitzan raised his legs to wrap them around the Myrmidon’s waist and he could barely touch his ankles together. He felt like he was being split open. The Myrmidon gave him no chance to adjust, immediately rutting into him at a furious pace. 

“How will the Tenno look his teammates in the eye again, knowing what he knows? No high collar will defend him from the newly-applied scar in the flesh of his own throat.” 

The Myrmidon clutched his thighs and lifted them, pulling Nitzan’s legs out and forcing them to bend. It left him horribly exposed— he could feel the brush of air against every bared bit of him, and worse, the slap of the Myrmidon’s heavy testes against his ass. 

“Every time he looks in a mirror, he will remember this day with a mixture of shame and desire.” 

Nitzan was screaming freely. With no time to adjust, he hadn’t been able to prepare himself for the onslaught of sensation; whenever he thought he might be getting a grip, something new happened to throw him off center. The Myrmidon thrusting inside of him took up most of his thoughts. “He will remember feeling defeated. More than that, he will remember feeling owned.” 

It was the strangest version of dirty talk that Nitzan had ever received, and he was unfairly into it. He cried out, clawing down the Myrmidon’s armored chest.

“He will dream of meeting the warrior again one day, but not to fight. No, the Tenno wants nothing more than to submit. Broken so thoroughly by this merciless violation, the only outcome of a future meeting ends with him on his hands and knees.”

The Myrmidon flipped him over. How, Nitzan was not entirely sure. He was pretty out of it with the only sensations that mattered including the Myrmidon’s hands on him and the Myrmidon’s thick cock in his hole. 

He was indeed set on his hands and knees. It gave the Myrmidon space to seize him by the hips and hold him still to be roughly fucked into— Nitzan howled, collapsing to his forearms as the friction against his walls built to an unbearable degree.

He was almost not paying attention when something cold and blunt nudged the rim of his asshole. Just once, almost a tease. A second passed and it happened again.

“No!” He couldn’t take _that_ violation. The Myrmidon already had his hole; already had carved his ownership into his neck. The blunt, armored finger returned, not to press in but to teasingly circle his rim as the Myrmidon continued to thrust in and out of his hole. “Please, not that!” 

The circling had a rhythm; it was following the pace of the Myrmidon’s fucking. Nitzan howled, indignant and shamed, as the Myrmidon’s thumb sank into his ass regardless of his pleas. It was humiliating to have the Myrmidon touch him so intimately while treating him so roughly; made him feel even more bared and uncomfortable. 

The pace continued to match. In, out, the thrust of the Myrmidon’s cock and his thumb pulling from Nitzan’s ass only to press in barely a second later. 

“ _Stop it_!” 

He was crying, he noticed. He’d managed to make himself _cry_. Points for authenticity, maybe? The dual sensations of the Myrmidon’s cock and the tormenting fingering had him close to a climax. 

“Don’t make me come with your finger in my ass!” 

The Myrmidon did not listen. His orgasm crested and he did his best to fight it, but he’d already learned that he could not win against the Myrmidon’s desires. It made him feel filthy; it made his blood rush even more. He cried out and came as the Myrmidon hooked his thumb in his ass and tugged, stretched his rim. The Myrmidon followed soon after, burying himself deep within Nitzan and loosing a torrent of cum that had Nitzan continually crying out. 

The Myrmidon continued to finger his ass as he came, and Nitzan knew why as soon as the Myrmidon withdrew his sopping cock from Nitzan’s equally dripping hole. 

“No! _No_! Please, not in there!”

He would like nothing more than for the Myrmidon to try and claim his ass as well. After coming, he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long, so it would be a simple stretch and sting with a cock that was not quite as large as it had been.

He still had a part to play; so he sobbed and screamed as the Myrmidon fit himself in with only Nitzan’s own slick and their mixed cum to ease the way. The Myrmidon managed a few halfhearted thrusts just to let Nitzan know who was in charge before post-climax sensitivity got the better of him and he had to pull out. 

He gave Nitzan a pat on the ass as he withdrew. Nitzan collapsed as soon as he was able, curling up, uncontrollably shaking from the experience. The Myrmidon cleaned himself off and tucked himself away, returned his armor to how it usually was, and turned to leave without even a second glance at Nitzan’s crumpled form.

“The defeated Tenno watches him go, used, humiliated, and filthy…. but not unsatisfied.”

Nitzan could make a _happy_ _ending_ joke. He didn’t, opting to remain on the ground and gather himself instead. The Plains disappeared around him until he was back in Ivara’s exhibit. It was perfect and untouched; he, however, was still naked, still dripping cum, and still bleeding.

“Drusus.” He sat up. 

“Was that the story you had in mind?” Drusus asked innocently, as if he wasn’t the one to orchestrate it. Nitzan laughed despite himself. 

“I didn’t know you’d wanted to get your hands on that old armor set that badly.” 

“I would be remiss to not reward you for a job well done.” As if he hadn’t enjoyed it too, the old degenerate. Nitzan snickered. 

“I’ll have to up my game. This is a new reward. I like it.”

“You are an exemplary actor, Tenno.” Drusus’ voice softened. As he spoke, the injuries and filth faded away; his clothes reappeared on him, as did Loki in the corner. He would have to surrender speech soon and return to his duties. 

“I can tell I’ll be visiting Ivara’s exhibit a lot in the future.” He offered a wink to the dark, featureless sky. A rippling laugh echoed around him, acknowledgement enough, so he pulled Loki to himself and dropped out of the Leverian to check the mission board, feeling oddly refreshed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed this!


End file.
